


the day i die (where will we be?)

by oceanhearted



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, it's explicit but there isn't rlly any fucking lol, so if you're here for that... come for the dick stay for the feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanhearted/pseuds/oceanhearted
Summary: There’s a distance in Kendall’s eyes that no-one will ever unravel, and this, Stewy thinks, is what will be their downfall.
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	the day i die (where will we be?)

**Author's Note:**

> jesse armstrong teach me how to write succession dialogue challenge
> 
> title from [day i die by the national](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwZvip416NU)

It’s the way Kendall’s gaze glazes over for the third time that night, like he wasn't even there (Kendall or Stewy; the other man couldn't tell) that finally makes Stewy snap.

“Dude, what’s with you today?” Stewy draws away from him and asks, not unkindly, but also not without his words trailing into a snarl. The other man almost seems to jolt back into reality, his eyes meeting Stewy’s for a moment, before just as quickly trailing away again— _in the Roy brand of shame,_ Stewy thinks. He’s seen the same, pathetic trailaway from Kendall’s siblings, in far more different contexts, of course, but it seems the second child can’t even leave his baggage unchecked outside the bedroom. _His_ bedroom, and _his_ _bed._ Somehow that’s the part of it all that nags at him the most, which is almost even more pathetic of Stewy, and outdoing a Roy in this regard is another level of low, low, _low._ "You know I'm not into making out with corpses, right?"

“I, uh—sorry,” is all Kendall manages to sputter out, in his Kendall way, “long day.”

“Well that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Again, not unkindly, but not without a hint of— _contempt,_ perhaps, although it’s not exactly the right word. “Come be Stewy’s little boytoy and let him fuck all your daddy issues away,” he likes the way Kendall shivers under him, certainly not from the chill of Stewy’s stripping his blazer and shirt off of him. He liked having this power over the Roy; he’d be hard-pressed to have that family in his vices anywhere else, but Kendall unravelled too easily, like this, it’s hardly ever been a challenge.

“Oh, is that how you view our arrangement?”

“Could you leave the corporate tonguefuck at the door, too?” 

“You’re the one who’s busy mouthing off instead of tonguef— _uck me,”_ Kendall’s quip turns into a needy little whine, as the other man intends it to, teeth reaching into the crook of his neck just right, lapping along the brief marks he’s left behind and more as Kendall tilts his head the other way, baring himself wider, _unravelling_. Just as well, his hands are reaching all over Stewy’s still-clothed back, grasping and pushing back at it needily, as if he wasn’t wearing a Dolce & Gabbana and wanting to pop its buttons right off. Which, to be fair, Stewy wouldn’t quite have minded.

“Long day, you said,” Stewy’s beat Kendall to it, however, pulling away, running his hands along, down Kendall’s chest, reaching and making quick work of his belt, not-so subtly grazing the growing bulge right below it. Kendall stifles a moan, barely getting a word of protest out of his mouth before Stewy reaches a hand upward and sticks his fingers into it; the way Kendall immediately pants and starts to suck on them is _such_ a fucking turn-on, what a desperate thing. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up and let me do this, yeah?” Not that the other man has much of a choice, fingers in his mouth and all, but Kendall seems compliant enough, which is all Stewy really needs.

Even with one hand, it doesn’t take much for Stewy to work their belts and pants off just enough (he’s had his practice), far too impatient to work them all the way off. He’s just as impatient with the hand from Kendall’s lips that slips between his legs and the fingers that work their way into him, and Kendall is generous with his moans, clammy hands gripping at the sheets beside him, giving in. He’s always been breathy and vocal and _needy_ like that, Stewy likes to think; just for Stewy, of course, he puts up a front with just about anyone else, surely even Rava, but that's not something he thinks about. The prep is rough and far from enough, of course, but Stewy’s charity only goes so far in their little arrangement, especially tonight. Stewy wants Kendall here and _present,_ feeling every inch of him as he works his way into him, slowly, antagonistically at first, knowing that the experience is not as pleasant as Kendall craves it to be at this moment, reaffirmed by the man's choked grunts, and Stewy can't help his smirk. He knows Kendall likes it rough anyway.

"What's wrong, Kendall?" It's just as much of a torture to himself, but Stewy's committed to dragging this out as long as he can, savouring the way Kendall squirms under him. His hands are reaching out again, either towards him or to stroke himself, but Stewy makes quick work in pinning them above his head. "Hey, what'd I say?" He leans in close, close towards Kendall, their foreheads nearly grazing, his rhythm continuously languid and punishing, Kendall panting underneath him. "You don't trust me to treat you well? That hurts me, Ken," he goes in particularly hard this time, making the other man gasp (hoping to distract him from the hint of earnestness in Stewy’s voice), then draws out again, slowly, tortuously, stilling; letting Kendall struggle desperately, trying to shift himself downward and onto Stewy's dick more. “You gonna let me do this for you, or what?”

And then his friend goes, _“please,_ Stewy,” just as shrewd to know the way to undo him with one move, and Stewy gives him exactly what he wants. (Call it his only weakness.)

* * *

Kendall always knocks out after (which Stewy should take as a compliment towards the tenacity of his dick, honestly), which Stewy dislikes, not that the thought of post-coital pillow talk with the other man feels like a better alternative. It just feels, well, _lonely._ The stuck-with-his-thoughts kind of lonely. It’s funny how Stewy having nary a worry in his one-percent lifestyle can be so quickly undone by having this man in bed next to him, deep in what must be the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks, and all of the gooey, icky, _Stewy in grade school having butterflies holding Kendall’s hand because their teacher told the class to get into a buddy system during a school trip-_ type feelings that come with it. He doesn’t know how long he spends staring at Kendall all lovesick-like, but he knows it’s too fucking long, and a long, ice-cold shower should knock some sense back into his head.

He’s surprised to see the other man conscious when he steps out of the shower, sitting up and not quite staring into anything. “How’re you doing, sleeping beauty?” The way Kendall jolts is almost pathetic, but what can he say, Stewy’s just that good. 

“Oh, uh, good,” he replies, dazedly. Stewy doesn’t miss the way his eyes run across the length of his body, covered only from the waist-down, and he smirks.

“Okay, princess. You want a drink, or something?”

“No, no, I’m good. Hey, uh, thank you,” Kendall says, and Stewy just gives the other man an exaggerated frown, trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling bubbling up in his chest.

“What? You think that was a pity fuck?” Kendall scoffs at his words, but he’s still holding that expression of— _fondness?_ —on his face, and Stewy doesn’t like it at all. “I mean, it basically was, but why the fuck are you thanking me for?”

“Well, uh, you said… you said, _let me do this for you.”_ Twist and pull. “That’s really the most anyone’s done for me in awhile. So, uh, thank you. For… yeah.”

A pause, then. “You’re unbelievable.” Six thoughtless words and Kendall looks as if he’s infatuated with Stewy, as if he needed a reminder of how depraved Kendall’s life outside of this bedroom was, one Stewy doesn’t really help with, either. Not that cutthroat isn’t woven through their whole lives, but still, this _hurts._ Which is really, really fucking stupid of him to get hung over, but here he is now. “I think it’s time you made a move.”

“What—wait, did I say something—”

“Just get out, already,” Stewy saunters towards his door, making a grand gesture in ushering Kendall out of the door. Kendall looks fucking miserable, but he doesn’t think he cares enough right now, or at all. He’s not sure which scenario that just played out hurts more; he just knows he doesn’t want to be thinking about it anymore tonight. “I don’t need you here when my girlfriend drops by in the morning, yeah? And I don’t need you acting like this means more than the fuck-all it does. It’s really not that deep.” (Or maybe Stewy’s the only one taking this the wrong way. He doesn’t know if he rather mean too much, or nothing at all.) “You really know how to show off the Roy genes when it matters. Now go.”

It’s like a switch flips in Kendall’s mind, and he’s despondent all over again. Stewy hates it. 

But what he hates most of all is the truth to it all, truth Stewy doesn’t want to, can’t quite look into the eyes of right now, as the other man dresses himself, side-steps him and lets himself out of Stewy’s apartment.

* * *

There’s a distance in Kendall’s eyes that no-one will ever unravel. Stewy’s not gonna say he’s had an easy life in comparison to the other man, fuck that, making it as far as he has as the child of an immigrant is no fucking joke, and Kendall was born stuck so high up royalty’s ass; he’s had a lot of things people like Stewy could’ve only dreamed for.

But it means something to be a _Roy,_ more than being the see-alls of a massive media conglomerate, something Stewy doesn’t quite discern, has never quite discerned from all his years of knowing Kendall, no matter how high they got together, no matter how many times he’s fucked and been fucked into one another’s beds. It’s more than being a name. It meant being a son, a child to _Logan Roy,_ who always seemed more like an abstract than the real deal, even with Stewy’s few interactions with the man. He’s never been scared of him, no. He didn’t have a reason to be; with the degrees of separation he’s maintained this whole time, even with the virtue of being Kendall’s friend, Logan’s abhorrence did nothing to him. But the man who would do so much to maintain his empire that he had broken all of his children down, broken and continued to break Kendall down—of course Stewy could see how this much damage had been done.

(And with Stewy’s help, he thinks to himself, there really isn’t much of Kendall left to ruin.)

His finger hovers uneasily over the send button on his phone, _text me so I know you didn’t kill yourself on your way back,_ until the screen dims completely, and he tosses his phone aside instead. This, Stewy thinks, is what will be the prodigal son’s downfall. This is what will be _their_ downfall.


End file.
